Target_Mike Shayne Read online

  He tore off a match. As he struck it on the abrasive strip, the girl said sleepily, “Clayt?”

  “Yeah?”

  “My, oh my. Light me one.”

  He passed her the cigarette he had begun to smoke, and lighted a new one for himself. She came up on one elbow, catching the sheet.

  “Are you glad you’re out of jail?”

  “For a lot of reasons.”

  “Don’t go away again, do you hear?”

  He moved his hand beneath the sheet, and found her body. She frowned and smiled at the same time.

  “Clayt! You can’t hope to make up for thirteen years in one morning.”

  “I can try.”

  But it was true; he had the rest of his life ahead of him, and he told himself again that there was plenty of time. He reached for the whiskey bottle.

  “You’ve got an edge on me in more ways than one,” he said. “You know where I’ve been all this time. Where have you been? The last time I saw you was in Mexico City. Start from there.”

  “I warn you,” she said, “It’s a long dull story. I’ve been all over. I was married for a while. That didn’t work out at all, through no fault of mine, or so I like to tell myself. I’ve had different jobs. I’ve been a stewardess, a receptionist, a hostess—the kind of job where you need the right measurements and no special talent. And of course you have to smile all the time. I had a fairly lengthy experience with a so-called big man from Southern California. I’ll tell you about that some time. I only met one person who really meant anything to me, and he got a little too absorbed in what he was doing, and ended up dead.”

  Clayton felt a strange stirring of jealousy and anger. He had no claims on her, as she had none on him, but she had been out in the real world, experiencing life, while he had been doing nothing but time.

  He made an inclusive gesture, taking in the room, the whiskey, the disordered bed, and said, “Now suppose you tell me what this is all about.”

  She turned her head lazily. “What what is all about?”

  “This big hello. The free liquor, the free sandwiches. The gun. I’m not turning you down, understand. I’ve got no complaints so far. You’ve performed a real public service.”

  She laughed infectiously. “You mean you don’t believe I’ve been pining for you all these years?”

  “Baby, I don’t think you ever did much pining for anything. You heard I was getting out. I made money once, and I’ll make it again. Maybe you thought if you could be first in line when the box office opened you’d get a reserved seat and free popcorn. But I’m not that good, let’s face it. There’s something a little more specific, isn’t there?”

  She went on laughing for a moment. “I really have thought about you a lot, Clayt,” she said, “and I don’t care if you don’t believe it. But it’s true—I wouldn’t have driven up here on a hot day just to see how much you’ve changed. But I’ve had a marvelous idea, and I think it’s just right for you.” She hitched up higher in the bed, forgetting the sheet. “There’s two hundred thousand in it, and very little risk.”

  “I’d like to hear about it. But it won’t make much sense unless you—”

  “Sorry.” She tucked the sheet more securely under her arms. “To begin with, you might as well know right now that I’m going to want half. It’s my idea, and you wouldn’t be able to organize it by yourself, in the time you’ll have. It’s not the kind of thing I can copyright, but you used to be well known for living up to any deal you made, so I’ll take a chance and tell you.”

  She gave him her cigarette to put out in the ashtray on the floor. “A man named Blackstone,” she said, speaking with suppressed excitement, “operates a poker game and a dice table on the twelfth floor of the St. Albans, in Miami Beach. He’ll close down after the horses stop running at Hialeah, and that’s why we have to hurry. I’ve given it quite a bit of thought. I’ve been there a few times with friends, and I’ve got to be real chummy with one of the maids on the floor. I was careful about it, incidentally. I can do some acting too, when I have to.”

  “Where do you get that two hundred thousand figure?”

  “It’s an educated guess. But there’s a lot of action in those two rooms, Clayt. Before Blackstone opened up, all the serious gamblers had to fly down to Havana, and fly back the next day in time for the races. This way there’s less commuting, and no tax-bite to the Cuban government.”

  “There always seems to be a lot of money in a dice game,” Clayton said. “Did you watch the poker?”

  “With fascination. It’s table-stakes most of the evening, with hundred dollar blue chips. Sooner or later they take off the limit. One night I was there I saw a sixty thousand dollar pot. The house just deals and cuts each pot, but at craps Blackstone will fade any bet. He keeps it in a safe in the sitting room. You understand the play will vary from day to day, depending on how much they’ve left in the pari-mutuel machines. So there’s no guarantee. But think about it.”

  Clayton started a fresh cigarette from the butt of his old one. He had to pretend an interest, because he didn’t want to say good-bye to this girl so soon after renewing their acquaintance. But her proposition was one of the least likely he had ever heard. The twelfth floor of a hotel would be a bitch to get out of.

  “Are you thinking about it?” she said.

  He ran his eyes along the curves of her body. “Now what else would I be thinking about? I’d better ask you a few questions. How big a crowd does he draw?”

  “The most I’ve counted was twenty-two, sixteen in the dice room, six at the poker table. But that would vary, too.”

  “What kind of protection does he have for all the cash?”

  “There’s a man at the door, the dealer and the stick-man. And you have to include Blackstone himself. But I don’t think he’d carry a gun.”

  “Don’t ever figure that somebody doesn’t carry a gun, because that’s always the bastard that plugs you in the back. You want me to go up against four guns on the twelfth floor of a big hotel. What was that remark about no risk?”

  “I said very little risk, Clayt. They’re hired men, all but Blackstone. What I meant was that the cops won’t hear about it unless we’re very unlucky. Gambling is only legal in one of the forty-nine states, and that’s not Florida.”

  “I’m not thinking so much about cops. I’m thinking about the guys who contribute to the sixty-grand pots. They may not mind losing dough in a poker game, but not in a stick-up. This Blackstone I’ve never heard of, but he probably has friends who’d be glad to come looking for me. I’d rather have cops to worry about, any day.”

  “They won’t know who you are. I don’t want to talk you into anything against your better judgment, Clayt. But compare it to anything else, say to a bank or a payroll. Every police department in the country is going to be notified that you’re back in circulation. You’ll get the credit for any job that shows any technique or planning, whether or not you actually did it. Your alibis better be very good from now on. Better still, don’t you think you’d better get out of the country? Here’s what I was thinking. The Hialeah season has ten days to go, till a week from Saturday. That ought to give us enough time. Pull the job Friday night and go straight to the airport. There may not be any racket guy in the game that night. Even if there is, it won’t occur to him to send somebody to look for you in Buenos Aires, even if he knew who he was looking for.”

  “Is it your idea that we’ll go together?”

  She kissed his bare shoulder lightly. “Darling, let’s wait and see. I don’t want to be dishonest with you. We’ll have ten days to decide.”

  He pulled her against him so she couldn’t see his face. Ten days of this would be a nice break from the prison routine.

  “You seem to have everything planned. How do I get in?”

  “You’ll have your own ideas about that after you look it over. I was thinking you ought to get into the game a few days early, so they’ll be glad to see you when you show up on the big
night. I have the names of three of the regular crap-shooters, and they’re all at the track every afternoon. It wouldn’t be hard to get in a conversation with one of them, and tell him you’re itching to get into a good old-fashioned dice game. It’s one of the reasons I thought of you. I know you could do it. How does it sound?”

  “That part’s all right. But I’ve got a total capital of forty-two bucks—the fifty the warden gave me, minus eight for the motel. That wouldn’t go far.”

  For a moment she was silent. She sighed.

  “I have fifteen hundred I can advance you. Just be sure you don’t lose it all before Friday night.”

  “You’re willing to trust me with fifteen hundred?”

  “I’ll get it back, if everything goes the way it should.”

  Against his will, Clayton was impressed. Some of that money would have to go for clothes. He couldn’t wear a prison suit in the St. Albans or the Hialeah clubhouse.

  “Sounds okay,” he said. “I stick them up and get so much dough I have to carry it off in a hand-truck. How do I get it out of the hotel?”

  “Well,” she said eagerly, “the telephone lines coming into the switchboard from the twelfth floor are all wrapped up in the same cable. You could cut it. All you’d have to do is wear the right kind of outfit and say you’re from the telephone company. That’s something we’ll have to find out. When you leave, fasten the door from the outside. I thought you could use some kind of metal plate, and screw it to the frame. They won’t be able to get out or use the phone.”

  “Where will you be while I’m doing all this?”

  “I’ll be holding the elevator. They’re self-operated at the St. Albans.”

  Clayton had no intention of doing anything so foolhardy, but the plan was so simple that it might very well work. It was perfectly true that the safest place for him, after he took care of a piece of unfinished business, was some entirely different country. To be really smart, he ought to take the girl’s fifteen hundred and use if for travelling expenses. But that would mean he would have to leave her behind, something he was suddenly reluctant to do. He didn’t want to be alone again so soon. The feeling surprised him. Perhaps the long years in prison had softened him.

  “I know there’s still a lot to work out,” she said. “Why don’t we do this? First we’ll get you some clothes. Then you can make the contact, go in and look the place over. If you don’t like it, say so and we’ll write it off. You won’t lose by it. And meanwhile—” she pulled away and looked at him briefly, then put her head back against the hollow of his shoulder—“meanwhile we’ll have to spend quite a bit of time together, won’t we?”

  “I should say,” he said. “I’ll keep the fifteen hundred of yours in the sock and start with my forty-two. There have been times in my life when I was pretty hot with the dice. Maybe I can do it all with my own dough.” Suddenly his eyes narrowed. For a moment they smoldered with pure, unadulterated hatred. He had worked out a line of action carefully, refining it and improving on it gradually over the years. But one weakness had always bothered him. In none of his successful robberies had he ever committed himself wholly to a single plan. He had never had only one getaway route, but two or three.

  Now, thanks to Miriam Moore and her fifteen hundred dollars, he saw a way of providing himself with a little low-cost insurance.

  He said slowly, looking at the end of his cigarette. “Twenty-odd people, in two rooms, including four potential guns. They aren’t likely to be hysterical, but that’s a lot for one man to control. I don’t suppose you want to be in on that part of it?”

  “Good Lord, no! I couldn’t control anybody. I’d be shaking like a leaf.”

  “I don’t want a three-way split any more than you do,” Clayton said, “but it sounds as though we have to bring in another man.”

  “Clayt, do you really think so?”

  “I don’t see how I could do it alone. We won’t have to go as high as a third. Twenty percent should take care of it.”

  He pretended to think for a moment. “I’d have to do a little asking around, but I ran into a boy in the can, and that kid really impressed me. He’s been out a few years, and as far as I know he hasn’t been burned again. He might be available. We need somebody who can scare twenty people at once, including some old pros. This kid had a look in his eye that would scare Frank Costello. Smith, Fran Smith. You probably haven’t heard of him.”

  She put her hand out for the bourbon bottle, and checked the level before drinking from it. Clayton liked to see a girl drink whiskey straight from a bottle, clad only in a sheet. It made an attractive picture, and he wondered why the calendar manufacturers had never thought of using it.

  “I think I did hear that name,” she said, “but it’s probably not the same one. This one’s a hired gun. Killings, I mean, not stick-ups.”

  “I wouldn’t be surprised if Fran’s done a little of everything. He was as wild as they come, and that’s what we’ll need. I got to know him pretty well. I can manage him.”

  “If you say so, Clayt,” she said reluctantly. “Is there anything else we ought to talk about?”

  Clayton had one other question, but he decided to let some time go by before he asked it. He grinned. “We’ve done enough talking.”

  Intent on the problem of how to take two hundred thousand dollars from a group of gamblers, her face was unsmiling and a little hard, older than Clayton had thought at first. Gradually that look faded and another took its place. She moved her cheek against his shoulder.

  “Clayt, I’m glad it turned out that you took the large size, not the medium. Put out your cigarette.”

  Time went by, very pleasantly in Clayton’s opinion.

  Considerably later, when the bottle was empty and all the sandwiches were gone, he came back from the shower, wearing only his shorts, and sat down on the edge of the bed. He let his hand fall lightly on her hip. With his other hand he shook out a cigarette from a package and lighted a match with his thumb-nail. He let his lungs fill luxuriously with smoke.

  “You seem to know Miami pretty well,” he said. “Is Shayne still around?”

  “Who?” she asked sleepily.

  “Mike Shayne, the fearless, incorruptible, two-fisted private eye.”

  Her eyes opened wide. They partly closed again, but they had lost their sleepiness.

  “I read about him in the papers now and then. Why?”

  “No reason. I had a little run-in with the guy once.”

  “That’s right,” she said slowly. “He’s the one who put you away, isn’t he? I’d forgotten that. You were in the clear, as usual. You’d taken care of everything, but he turned up some piece of evidence that convicted you.”

  “He had a little luck,” Clayton said carelessly.

  “Also as usual.”

  “Well, the whole thing was fantastic. Evidence? There wasn’t any evidence. There was only one witness they could use against me, and legally he didn’t have to testify because he was involved too. So Shayne picked up something in the guy’s background and leaned on him. I went to jail, and Shayne picked up the reward from the bonding company.”

  He was trying to speak casually, but some of his bitterness must have come through. She raised herself a little more and brushed her hair back from her forehead.

  “You wouldn’t have any crazy idea about looking him up, would you?”

  Clayton laughed. “He’s spent the reward by now, and I doubt if he’d split it with me anyway. Why should I look him up?”

  “Clayt,” she said urgently. “Dear, listen to me. A lot of the stories about him are probably exaggerated, but he’s pulled off some amazing stunts in his time. He’s solved cases that had the police going around in circles. Call it luck if you want to, but I think there must be more to it than that. He’s tough. He’s made some important enemies, a lot more important than you, darling, with money and connections. Some are dead, others are in jail or in hiding, but you’ll notice that Michael Shayne is still wal
king around.”

  “Honey, you’re getting intense about nothing. I’ve got a good reason for not liking the bastard. That’s as far as it goes.”

  “I really hope so, Clayt. If you want to do something foolish I don’t suppose I can stop you. Just don’t do it in the next ten days. Unless you’re willing to concentrate on this, I’ll give it to someone else. It’s too good to spoil.”

  “Why should I want to spoil it?”

  She gave him a direct, deadly look. For the first time he saw a hint of violence beneath the surface pleasantness.

  “I intend to get my full share of that money,” she said. “My full share. I’ve been leading a pretty crummy life the last couple of years, and it’s been getting worse, not better. This is my one chance to retire from the rat race. I need money to do it.”

  “I’ll get it for you, baby,” he said soothingly.

  “If it falls through because of something we can’t help, all right. But if you deliberately step out of line, Clayt, I’ll kill you. I mean that. So stay away from Shayne.”

  He shook his head wryly. “This is all out of proportion. What do you think I am, crazy?”

  She didn’t answer, but from the way she was watching him, apparently she wasn’t entirely sure.

  He dragged again at his cigarette. The smoke suddenly tasted harsh and unpleasant. He leaned over to put it out in the ashtray. His expression was still relaxed and indifferent, but he ground out the cigarette as viciously as if he had been breaking the back of a prison cockroach. When he took his hand away, the butt was a crumpled mess, broken in three places and spilling loose tobacco.

  3

  Michael Shayne knew that the Seafarer Restaurant, on Collins Avenue near the big new hotels, would be crowded at this time of year, but the food and the service would more than make up for it. He and Lucy Hamilton, his trim, brown-haired secretary, often dined here when they had something to celebrate, usually the completion of an exceptionally profitable case.